


you flower, you feast

by stylinsoncity



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Hades and Persephone AU, Hate to Love, M/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-06
Updated: 2017-10-14
Packaged: 2019-01-09 22:48:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 18,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12285870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stylinsoncity/pseuds/stylinsoncity
Summary: He's King of the Underworld, but don't assume Louis has it all. He could stand for some excitement in his monotonous, eternal life and maybe, even.....a soulmate.(Despite not having a soul.)And along came "Harry".





	1. Part One

**Author's Note:**

> Please give it up for my incredibly inventive title.
> 
> I didn't tag all the characters in this bc some only appear once or are simply mentioned (and I'm being lazy).

In the human sense of the word, a “day” for the God of the Underworld typically includes a few lonesome meals, a cuddle with his hounds, and a soak in his bubbling spring. But more often than not, Louis is sat on his throne of iron skulls while his minions prattle on about Underworld and Upperworld politics. It tends to get very boring very quickly — the prattling.

They’re all chattering now when Louis asks, “Where’s Eleanor?”

“Her last class just finished, my Liege,” a lesser demon answers. “She’ll arrive by two.”

And see, _this_ is why Eleanor is his most trusted familiar. She always arrives at the top of the hour. Never too early, but never late. The others, they come and loiter around and inevitably annoy Louis but she knows he likes his space. She stays just long enough to discuss and deliberate and then she leaves.

To be fair, a quick chat is likely all Eleanor’s got time for. Being a university student — or at least, pretending to be one like she does every decade — is busy work. She calls her extensive time at Oxford and Manchester and Cambridge “research” but everyone knows it’s to bait young unsuspecting humans into insidious deals.

At two, Louis can practically hear the gravel of his drive crackling under the tires of her mini-Cooper. Playing human also means Eleanor uses the human entrance to the Underworld: Louis’ charming Victorian in Primrose Hill, which to any mortal appears like the typical home of a typical billionaire. A rose garden and a black wrought iron fence divides the property from the road. A white fountain sits in the center of the drive and Louis’ Bentley, Audi, and Rolls Royce surround it, each of them black, polished and gleaming.

Step inside and it looks similarly human and vain. A large foyer of black and white marble, a dining room where Louis has never hosted a guest, a large kitchen where he's never cooked a meal. What Louis considers his real home lies a floor down. Yes, it’s that simple. Take the spiral staircase at the end of the hall and you're in the Underworld.

Eleanor enters just as Louis finishes his first beer, dipping her head in a customary bow.

“El,” Louis greets her. “Let’s get started.”

“Right.” She unlocks her iPhone and consults her notes app. “Where should I begin?”

Louis waves for a servant to fetch him another beer, which he already knows he’ll need. He knocks the top off against the armrest of his throne and has a long pull.

Today’s report, like yesterday's, includes an extensive list of infractions committed by his younger brothers. No actor in the world could muster a semblance of shock.

Zeus, or Zayn, as he likes to be called now, resurrected a fallen soldier in Syria. Poseidon, who goes by Liam these days, did the same for a boy who’d drowned in a swimming pool. And Apollo, or Niall, did so for a surgeon he admired who suffered in a fatal car accident.

Resurrecting a person isn’t a terrible deed by human standards.

But when a person dies, the fate of their soul is Louis’ to decide. He chooses who gets a second chance, not his brothers. After many millennia, he’s convinced they exist simply to make his life more miserable. That they know how the system works but simply don’t care. That it’s fun to ruffle Louis’ feathers because he makes it easy. It’s a joke to them half the time and Louis could forgive them a jest every now and then because heaven knows (or Olympus, really) that an eternity can get boring. But not with Louis’ dominion pestering him constantly, begging him to put his brothers in place.

If they don’t chill out—

The fire lining the throne room blazes bright and hot and Louis can’t help a small, breathy laugh at the irony. Eleanor lifts a brow.

“Go on,” Louis says, impatiently.

Her arms cross her chest tightly. “When your brothers go unchecked, their followers take it upon themselves to do the same. When your brothers usurp your power, it sends a message to everyone else that Hades is weak, unfocused, and his defences are down.”

Right. And if they don’t chill the fuck out, Louis will have to wage war on them.

The thought alone drains him.

Wars amongst gods are very tedious affairs. No one loses, except if you count the demons and angels who actually die, and no one really wins either. Eventually, he and his brothers grow tired or hungry and retire to Zayn’s kingdom of clouds for a feast. It’s not a solution. It’s just a waste of time, which perhaps is the point.

Even ruminating about the logistics of war is boring. Louis strokes the head of his hellhound, Cerberus, lazily, and cradles his chin in his palm. His eyelids feel heavy and he’d love a nap. Or a fuck. But he hasn’t wanted to bed any of his usual consorts. Lately, the only person he ever lusts after is the human.

Harry.

“Louis.”

He looks at her, glaring. She's not supposed to call him that in front of the others. Lessers get funny ideas when they see their superior challenged.

Clearly, no one listens to him. Either they’re all hard of hearing or he's gone soft.

“Your Highness,” Eleanor grits out, like one would utter the word ‘scrotum’.

Louis’ lips twitch. “It’s all a bit of an exaggeration, don’t you think?” he asks. He squints at a sliver of space between his thumb and pointer finger. “Just a bit. Would you have me start a war over a few angels run amuck?”

Eleanor purses her lips. “There are five demons dead in the last month. The most recent was just in Birmingham. A young one, Louis. Spawned only a year ago. Arrogant and foolish, yes, but he didn’t deserve the beating he got from a group of five angels ‘run amuck’.” She uses air quotes. “Am I still exaggerating? When one of your brothers decides he wants to do your job, his people decide that _your_ people aren’t good for anything either.”

Louis lifts his chin, his eyes narrowed. It’s silent for a while after that, all the other demons tense because no one talks to Louis this way. But here in lies the difference between her and them. None of the others would get him to listen either.

So Louis reclines in his seat and contemplates the best course of action.

“I've heard enough,” he says after a minute passes. “They’ll be spoken to.”

Eleanor recoils, her disbelief clear.

“Anything else?” Louis asks.

“Your human hasn't returned to the dive bar,” she says. For the first time, she has his undivided attention. Her smirk says she knows it. “With your permission, I could track him down—”

“No.” Louis sets his beer bottle down beside him. “That’ll be all.”

Eleanor hesitates, then bows her head. She leaves, petting Cerberus on her way through the doors.

With a flick of his hand, Louis dismisses the other demons in the great hall. They all bow and hurry out of the throne room. Louis turns in his seat, throwing his legs over one arm and resting his back against the other. He shuts his eyes…

And thinks, of course, of _him_.

+

**WEEKS PRIOR**

The barmaid leans across the bar. She looks at Louis and her bubblegum lips curve.

“All alone?” she asks.

Louis lifts his whiskey sour. “I'm waiting for someone.”

It's not a complete lie, although she’ll probably think so. He comes to the same dive bar in Lower Manhattan every Thursday night alone and leaves every Friday morning the same way. He likes to hang around until at least 2 AM when the drunkest of the drunk are particularly entertaining.

Mostly he watches. Sometimes he talks. Each and every time he sees _him_. It's to the point now where Louis isn't sure if it's the bar he's mostly fond of or the boy with the dark curls and the rose-coloured mouth.

“If you're someone doesn't show, your next drink is on me,” the woman says, touching Louis’ forearm. And just as she says it, Louis hears a cheer go up behind him — a unanimously bellowed “Harry!” — and turns in his seat.

From the shadow of the doorway, the boy, _Harry_ , steps into the open, shaking rain water from his dark hair. He steps immediately into the waiting arms of a friend. He’s all smiles and laughs. His face is aglow somehow. It shouldn’t be possible for a mortal, but very few things about him are. Mortal, that is. His friends appear to glow too, the instant he arrives, like he’s giving off enough energy to power them too. The literal life and the breath of the party.

“Sorry, I’m late,” Harry says, accepting a drink someone’s got waiting for him. He gives a flourish of his hand. “Got caught in the rain.”

He’s given two greeting kisses at once on either cheek.

“At least you made it,” a tall man dressed in a printed floral top and skinny jeans says, tucking Harry beneath his arm, pulling him over to their little booth. Harry sits, running a hand through his damp hair, and finally glances around the room. Their eyes meet, his and Louis’, and Louis doesn’t look away. The first time he saw him, a month ago, it was the same. It’s hard to look anywhere else once Harry is in the room.

The tall bloke — his name is Nick, Louis knows — snaps his fingers a few times. With the most discreet smile, Harry looks away and surrenders his attention to his friends.

Louis watches people. That’s his thing. It’s worth the journey Up Top to find one particularly interesting human to help pass his egregious abundance of time.

He spends most of his days in parks, concert venues, hospitals, universities, law offices, and sometimes a home or two, seeking out the most peculiar individuals. Sometimes he lets them see him. Most often he doesn’t. Bars, of course, are guaranteed to make his evening worthwhile.

Tonight he can’t focus on the woman — Elise — sitting on the lap of a man three times her senior (his name is Mark Severn and he’s going to die in five months and maybe Elise has guessed as much based on his unmistakably sickly pallor which is why she’ll secure her place in his will before he croaks).

Louis can’t care that Elise has found the fastest and most efficient (and most entertaining) route to wealth because Harry is across the room, laughing his ridiculously loud laughter and Louis’ got a problem.

Death, on principle, is incredibly boring to him. (No one is typically thrilled by their line of work, are they?) But sometimes, Louis gets curious and does what he did to Mark. One of the rare perks of being ‘the God of the Dead’ is the ability to conjure up the exact time, location and details of a person’s demise, and sometimes he likes it — at least, for the tension it throws into the circle-jerk storyline that is humanity.

But Louis can't read Harry. He tries. He tried the last three times he saw him too. But Harry’s future always appears endless and white, which is typically the case for a certain breed of being.

For god's, it's day after day of extravagance, millennia after millennia of measuring cocks, night after endless night of immortality. Immortality is boring and endless and white.

But Harry’s not immortal. Louis knows every immortal and he'd never forget him. Harry, as far as Louis can tell, is human, which doesn't explain why Louis’ power won't work on him. Maybe Harry’s a witch, though there aren’t many with real power these days. Maybe Louis’ had too much whiskey. Maybe he’s losing his touch.

It’s fifteen minutes until midnight and Louis decides to leave once he finishes his drink. At ten minutes to midnight, Harry stands. He needs a moment to steady himself before strolling across the room. At five minutes to midnight, after he’s leaned into the bar and ordered a new drink, he turns to Louis.

“Were you planning to talk to me this time or do you prefer watching me?”

Louis’ glass hovers at his mouth. He looks at him, his brows arched. “Was I watching you?”

“You’re always watching me.”

“ _Always_?”

“The last time I was here, last Thursday I think,” Harry says. “You were watching me then too. _And_ the time before that.”

Well, fuck. Louis thought he’d been a lot less obvious that time. It’s unlike him to get caught (as in, it never happens). And by a human of all things. In the bluish light beaming over the bar, Harry’s white blouse and the skin of his chest exposed by the three loose buttons glows. One would almost think, he emitted its own light.

Maybe he’s not human after all.

“Okay, you got me,” Louis says. “You’re nice to look at.”

Harry glances into his glass of Bourbon, his lips twitching. “You’ll have to try harder than that.”

“I’m not trying at anything.”

Harry smirks. “No?”

“If I remember correctly, you were the one who approached me.”

Harry’s mouth parts and closes. He looks like a bird with its wings clipped.

“Not that I mind,” Louis tacks on. Why he hurries to console him is anyone’s guess.

“So you _are_ trying at something,” Harry questions, and the smug grin is back in full force.

“I'm not.”

Harry’s eyes narrow. “You’re married, aren’t you?”

Louis laughs. “Far from it.”

Encouraged, Harry takes a seat beside him. “Are you _attached_ at all?”

“There’s no one,” Louis tells him

Harry smiles, leaning a bit closer, and when he does, the smell of roses drifts away from him. His mouth is a brilliant red like the finest of petals. He licks them. “I’m Harry. What’s your name?”

 _I have many_ , Louis thinks. Hades. Pluto. Aita and Aides and Dis Pater. The Unseen, The Rich One and Orcus the Punisher, Polydectes, Clymenus, Eubulus. He’s been called Zeus of the Underworld, which he resents, being the oldest. To the Catholics and Christians, he's Satan, Lucifer, Diablo, or The Prince of the Air. In the Norse, he's Nidhogg.

“Louis,” he says. Probably the safest option.

“Louis,” Harry repeats. The way his mouth shapes the ‘o’ is distracting. His dimple when he smiles is too. “You’re also nice to look at.”

And then nearly a whole minute passes where that’s all they do. Their gazes travel up each other’s torsos, tracing the cut of the jaw, the bows of the lips, the lashes. Louis marvels at every part of Harry he can see and imagines what he can’t. Their eyes meet again, all that heat and intent compressed until it’s something solid and tangible and impossible to ignore.

“You abandoned your friends,” Louis points out.

Harry glances at them. “They’re all drunk.”

“And you’re not?”

“Not really.” Harry shrugs. “Just drunk enough to talk to you.”

“Didn’t need to be drunk to do that.”

“Makes it a little easier though,” Harry confesses. “Do you work around here? You’re all suited up.”

Louis hasn’t gotten a handle on human dress is the problem. It changes so frequently and he likes so little of it. In his world, occasionally they’ll wear trousers and Louis likes ‘jeggings’ a lot. But togas are still preferable and far more comfortable. Some gods despise any form of clothing whatsoever and to be fair, there isn’t a being in the universe who wasn’t created nude.

Harry seems to have his attire all figured out, looking decadent in a simple semi-sheer blouse, black jeans, and shiny black boots. He’s treading that line between dressy and casual with panache and ease. Louis only knows business. A black suit is his best bet when he comes Up Top. He has over a thousand black suits for this very reason.

“I work close by,” Louis says, but it’s more correct to say he works all over. People die everywhere and sometimes, if they’re important enough, Louis comes personally to collect them.

Harry narrows his eyes like Louis is a jigsaw puzzle but there’s a noticeable quirk to his lips like he enjoys the challenge of solving him. And then there’s the ever-present unabashed hunger, sometimes revealed in a quick glance or a once-over or his knee periodically brushing Louis’. Louis knows he’s looking at him the same way. At his lips that appear like fresh fruit. He wants to taste them until he's got fucking sugar rush.

“How about a shot?” Harry asks, apropos of nothing, except that they’re in a bar. Louis shouldn't. Something about the way humans make their booze means it sometimes affects the gods just as easily as it affects them. The most expensive, finely crafted spirits are the worst. Cheap booze Louis can drink like water. A quick glance across the shelves behind the wall says there‘s enough of both.

But he’s spent too much time ruminating on this and Harry is beginning to smile like he’s gotten some upper hand, like he’s pulled a rug from under Louis. Not a chance.

“Why not?” Louis says.

This only makes Harry’s smile grow. He leans his torso across the bar, aiming for the attention of the bartender. Louis is not a god of self-control or temperament. He looks shamelessly at Harry’s arse and thighs hugged lovingly by his black jeans. His body sort of demands to be admired, meticulously sculpted as it is. Michelangelo would shake in his boots.

“What do you do?” Louis asks because he’s curious (and also needing diversion from his suddenly ravenous sexual appetite). He’s betting Harry is an actor or musician. He's got the look of a rockstar down to a science.

“I'm a journalist,” Harry says.

“Really?” Louis tries not to sound too shocked but fails.

“You don't believe me?”

“Suppose I have to,” Louis says. “You seemed like an entertainer.”

“I'm very entertaining,” Harry says. The bartender pours them two shots of Don Julio and they lift them. “How about a toast?”

“To what?” Louis asks.

Harry wrinkles his nose as he thinks. “To being young and being human,” he decides.

There's something cunning about his smile after he says it. Louis narrows his eyes a fraction, then inclines his glass to Harry’s. They tap them together, throw the sharp liquid back, and overturn their glasses on the bar top. Harry licks a dash of salt from the top of his hand and sticks a lime into his mouth. He tilts his head back, shutting his eyes. Louis watches plenty people but he's never enjoyed it this much.

“So why do you always come here alone?” Harry asks.

“You have a lot of questions.”

“You inspire a lot of intrigue,” Harry replies. “What's your deal?”

“I come to see you,” Louis says.

Harry laughs. “Very smooth. And the truth?”

Louis hesitates, running his thumb around the bottom of his shot glass. “Why does anyone come here?” he wonders aloud. “For people, isn't it? To experience people.”

“Hm,” Harry hums inquisitively. “I think most just come to drink and fuck.”

“They come to the bar to fuck?” Louis questions. “In the toilet? Or in the open?”

Harry laughs again. “No- Well, I suppose you could do it in the toilet. Although the one here is tiny and the door doesn't lock quite right. What I mean is they come to bars to meet people to take _home_ to fuck.”

“Is that why you're here?”

Harry smiles coyly. “I'm the exception to the rule. I'm here for my friend’s birthday.”

“And the last time?”

Harry strokes his jaw with his pointer finger and thumb. “That time, I might have been looking to fuck. Too bad you only wanted to watch me.” He laughs but Louis doesn’t think he’s joking.

“You're shameless,” Louis says.

“I can be.” Harry is unbothered. “Another shot?”

“I shouldn't.”

“Someone you have to get home to?”

“There's no one,” Louis says. “I told you.”

“Just checking.” And then Harry leans across the bar again. He orders two shots and glances back at Louis, just missing his second unapologetic appraisal. He rests his chin on his palm and smiles. “How old are you?”

“30,” Louis says, which is how he appears right now and tends to look. Of course, he could make himself appear 10, if he wanted to. And tomorrow he could look 50. “You?”

“25,” Harry says. Their second order of shots arrives. Harry sits closer to Louis, their knees brushing. “Another toast?”

Louis nods.

“You think of something,” Harry says.

“To people,” Louis says without thinking long.

“Or just me and you?” Harry amends, which isn't exactly what Louis meant, but he taps his glass against Harry’s and tosses the shot back anyway. Harry shakes a bit of salt on his skin and offers his wrist to Louis, smile smug and full of challenge. Louis has never been this shaken by another being, human or otherwise. The consorts who he fucks in his leisure don't challenge him. They don't pursue him. They don't toy with him. Louis never allows himself to be toyed with.

But one twitch of Harry’s red mouth and Louis is caught. He takes his wrist gently. It’s the first time they’ve touched. The first time Louis has touched any human in a long while, but he remembers enough to know it’s never felt like this. He leans in, licking the salt from Harry’s skin and doesn’t miss how Harry’s eyelids sink to half-mast. Harry tucks a lime wedge into his mouth and Louis bites down and sucks. He has him. He never doubted it before. But Harry is leaning closer and closer, entranced and adrift in Louis’ current. He’s focused so intensely on Louis’ mouth he seems to have transcended. And then he blinks, snapping his own mouth closed, and meets Louis’ gaze again. The flush making its way across his neck and ears is divine. He licks his lips and tucks a lock of hair behind his ear.

“Do you dance?” he asks.

Louis’ brows wrinkle. “I can dance.”

“Not quite what I asked,” Harry says, sliding off his stool. “But I’ll take it.”

“Where are you going?”

“ _We’re_ going to dance,” Harry says, opening his palms. When Louis doesn’t immediately take his hands, Harry reaches for him, locking his fingers around Louis’ wrists. He tugs Louis forward and then turns, keeping just one of their hands linked. He ventures to a dark corner on the dance floor, which is almost entirely deserted. The tiny white dots of light from overhead refract about the room and catch on Harry’s skin as he faces Louis and folds their fingers together.

Louis doesn’t dance, usually. He prefers a soothing jazz record resounding through the caverns of the Underworld while he sips a glass of red. He doesn’t dance, but he absolutely knows _how_. And he’s tired of being worked over by this human. Louis sets his hands on Harry’s hips and slides a leg between both of his and guides him in a slow grind. Harry smiles, throwing his arms over Louis’ shoulders, glancing at the point where their pelvises meet. Louis presses his palms into Harry’s lower back, his thumbs sliding beneath Harry’s blouse and just grazing his hips.

Harry leans in, his mouth to Louis’ ear. “There’s no one waiting for you at home?”

“You clearly don’t believe me when I say no,” Louis says.

“I’m finding it harder and harder to believe,” Harry says. “What’s the catch?”

Aside from him being an immortal god? “There’s no catch.”

Harry cups the back of Louis’ neck, his fingers toying with his hair. “So am I leaving with you or what?”

Louis lifts his chin, looking down the length of his nose at him. How he would love to take him home. He’d spend all night charting every inch of Harry like he’s charted the expanse of the Underworld. He’d explore him like he’s explored Tartarus and Erebus and the many rivers that run his land. But he can’t. The only humans he takes with him are the ones passing on, and technically, they’re no longer considered human.

He could get a hotel, but that would be suspicious. He could go back to Harry’s place, wherever that is, but could he settle for having him once?

It’s unlikely.

“Take me with you,” Harry says, moving just so, pressing his thigh relentlessly into Louis’ cock, which is the first time Louis realizes they’re both hard. Harry leans in and Louis lets him. His breath curls on Louis’ lips. He smells of nectar. Louis can taste the molten honey of his tongue already. His hands shake with restraint as he steps away.

“I have to go,” Louis says, hoarsely, putting enough space between them that he instantly feels cold. Yet another feeling he's unfamiliar with. Hades tends to run warm year-round. And the Upperworld’s temperatures never affect him.

But the instant he steps away from Harry, he feels for the first time chilled.

“Louis—”

“I’m sorry,” Louis says. Another step back and he turns away. He makes it out of the bar, ducks into his car and starts the engine up. He glances into the rearview mirror and regrets it. Harry followed him. Just to the doors of the bar. But he stands there on the pavement, his hands tucked into his pockets.

Louis throws the car into drive and takes off.

+

Zayn arrives with a rumble of thunder and a flourish of clouds at his feet as if someone had powered up a smoke machine. He wears all white, a sharp contrast to his golden skin and to Louis’ black robe. He approaches the mead table as if he's got all the time in the world, which technically he does.

He looks at the line of servants standing nearby and the mass of food spread out between them, including a pig with an apple parting its mouth.

“This is a bit much,” Zayn says, taking a seat.

Less than a minute into their meeting and Louis is already exhausted. “Where are the others?” he asks.

“You ask me like I’d know,” Zayn says, smiling. “I’m not their keeper.”

Louis narrows his eyes. “I know you know where they are.” Zayn sees all. He knows where everyone is.

And yet he shrugs. “I told them not to come.” He plucks a grape from the bunch near his hand and chews slowly. “They know I’m best at handling you.”

“Handling me?” Louis lifts one brow, amused.

Zayn leans forward on the table. “What’s this all about, Louis?”

“You, Apollo, and Poseidon. Your infractions against me and my kingdom increase every day. You’re annoying my people, and then they annoy me. I've had enough. _I’m_ the god of the dead. I decide who dies and who doesn’t, not you.”

Zayn rolls his eyes. “You’re angry because we take care of a few humans every now and then? Because Liam saves a drowning boy?”

“That’s exactly it.”

“You let them die, Louis. You’re supposed to be keeping track of every human soul and you don’t.”

“Did you ever consider that maybe it was their time?”

“We both know that wasn’t the case,” Zayn says. “You’ve been slacking off. It’s that simple.”

Louis clenches his jaw and wraps his fingers around his two-pronged spear propped against the table beside him.

Zayn sees him do it and smiles jovially, allowing just the slightest crack of current into the air. ”Did I strike a nerve?“ he asks, knowing the answer already. “Something has you distracted,” he concludes. “Or _someone_.”

Louis loosens his grip on the spear. He regrets losing his cool so quickly. Just like that, he’s given everything away and Zayn knows it.

“Has big brother fallen in love?” he asks.

“Are you finished?” Louis questions, reaching for his wine. He’s _not_ in love.

“It’s a human, isn’t it?” Zayn asks. “Has to be. A man or a woman? You’ve always favoured men. Does he know?”

Louis sighs. “You’ve overstayed your welcome.”

“Not yet,” Zayn says, and Louis’ fingers itch for the spear again. “I have a solution.”

“Do share,” Louis says.

“Persephone,” Zayn says simply.

Louis’ brows crease. “ _Who_?”

“My son. Or well, he's Demeter’s but same difference. I’ll give him to you, as a gift, as a peace offering. Marry him, let him share your work, and you can be free to run around with all the humans you want.”

Louis snorts. “You care very little for him.”

“I’m making a sacrifice,” Zayn says, but he’s not at all. “You’d like him.”

Louis drinks the rest of his wine. “Absolutely not. For one, I’m not letting you weasel your way into my kingdom using Demeter’s spawn. And two, the last thing I need is a spouse.”

“At least take a look at him?” Zayn bargains. “See if he doesn’t pique your interest.”

“I said no—”

Zayn snaps his fingers twice. The sound is louder than it should be, echoing against the walls of Louis’ great hall. As expected of the god who shoots lightning from his palm. Two figures appear in the room to the right of the table, heads slightly bowed. One is the goddess, Demeter, and the other, must be Persephone, wearing a crown of gold leaves and a dark red robe.

Demeter lifts her head first, nodding to Louis. “My lord.”

Louis waits.

“May I present my son?” she begins, swinging her hand gracefully toward him. “Persephone.”

When the boy lifts his head, Louis’ heart falls right through his ribcage. His eyes widen. And of course, so do Harry’s.

Harry.

 _His_ Harry.

He must have used a glamour in the human world. Without it, he’s more stunning than Louis thought possible. His skin glows more radiantly in the great hall, golden and pink, fresh as fruit. Dark brown hair spills freely over his shoulders. It appears to shine too like copper.

In his hands, he holds a basket of pomegranates, sunflowers, and dark roses. His mother turns her head and glares at him imperceptibly. She clears her throat and Harry blinks.

He sinks into a small bow. “My lord,” he says quietly. His voice cracks. “I come bearing a gift of fruit from my garden.”

Louis’ heart hasn’t raced this wildly in years. One would think he was human. “Well?”

Harry lifts his head again, pursing his lips. He takes a few easy strides toward the table, the tail of his robe dragging behind him, the gold cuffs on his wrists gleaming. Louis eyes the sash, pictures himself untying it, and watching the whole thing slip to the floor. He’s salivating.

Harry places the basket on the table and his eyes flicker up to meet Louis’. They’re a lighter green now and flecked with gold. He’s a work of art. He studies Louis cautiously and then bows again, the front of the robe drooping enough to expose his collarbones and one dark pink nipple. The smell of fruit drifts from his skin, curling in Louis’ nostrils and between his parted lips.

Louis turns to Zayn. “I accept.”

Harry’s eyes widen again.

Zayn recovers quickly from his own momentary shock. “Happy to hear it.”

+

The ceremony is held at Zeus’ temple because there are plenty who don’t feel comfortable venturing into the Underworld. Which is fine with Louis. He hates hosting anyhow.

It’s a ridiculously massive and festive affair. Cherubs fly overhead, playing harps and flutes. And higher in the sky, dragons take flight, performing tricks to keep the guests entertained. A full feast is being prepared in Zayn’s mead hall, and in the garden row after row after row of seats is occupied by Louis’ brothers and sisters, their consorts and nearly a half of their domain.

A chariot waits to take him and Harry back to the underworld after it’s all over, and that’s the moment Louis focuses on. Not the million eyes trained on him, but the moment Harry is his, the moment they’re on their way home, the moment he has him in his bed. _Their_ bed.

A trumpet sounds.

The guests rise.

Louis lifts his head and stares at the doors ahead as two guards armoured in gold pull them open. And in the arch of that doorway stands Harry.

He’s dressed in white and gold tumbling robes that pool behind him. A wreath of roses drenched in gold adorns his head, his curls abundant and burnished in the glow of Zayn’s temple. There aren’t enough words or letters or sounds in any language to describe him. His beauty is shattering. His presence arrests. It feels as though every world in every universe has stopped moving. Louis has never loved anyone, but for the first time, he thinks he could.

The cherubs start up their celestial serenade again and Harry lifts his head, his eyes meeting Louis’ like the first wave to crash on the earth and the first star to tear open the heavens, and takes a step forward.

+

An eternity obviously leaves quite a lot of room for quite a lot of sexual partners. Humans have a few terms for a person who sleeps around, but Louis just calls himself practical. His brothers have thousands of consorts for the same reason.

By human standards, Louis is admittedly _over_ -experienced when it comes to sex. Which doesn’t explain his brief hesitation before entering his chamber. He pauses at the doors, drawing a breath, before giving them a push.

Harry’s gaze meets his instantly. He’s sitting on the bed, dressed in a sheer black robe to match Louis’ that leaves little to the imagination, and all sense of uncertainty melts away. Louis shuts the door behind him and steps forward, reaching for the sash of his own robe. He pulls it loose and allows the silk to fall to his feet.

Harry’s eyes fall to his crotch and his Adam’s apple bobs. His chest and neck turn a lovely pink. He opens his mouth, shuts it. Louis smiles and takes a step closer.

“You’ll have to force me.”

Louis stops dead in his tracks.

“What?”

Harry lifts his chin, his jaw locked. “You heard me.”

Louis has never been modest. He knows that his mystical blood keeps his body firm, his muscles lean and defined, his cock thick. When he wants to look good, he looks marvellous, and he's never been shy about that.

And yet, for the first time ever, he wants to cover himself up, to shrink back, to hide.

“Why the hell would I need to—?” Why the hell would he _want_ to? “I thought this was what you wanted. At the bar—”

“When I was pretending to be human and having a good time,” Harry says, standing. “When it was my _choice_ . _This_ isn't my choice.”

“You’ve got to be fucking joking.”

“I’m absolutely not,” Harry says. “And anyway I don’t get why you’re suddenly interested in sleeping with me when you practically ran away the last time you had the chance.”

And what is Louis to say to that? ‘I couldn’t stand to have you once’? His pride would never let him be so candid. This was too good to be true from the onset and he’s got only himself to blame for not seeing it sooner. He huffs a tired laugh and collects his robe off the floor.

“What are you doing?” Harry asks.

“Leaving.”

“Really?” Harry has the audacity to sound surprised.

Louis looks at him and scowls. “Of course. You either want me to fuck you or you don’t.”

“I absolutely do not,” Harry says.

“Good,” Louis says. “Because I no longer want to fuck you either.”

“Good.” Harry climbs into bed and pulls the sheets up to his chin. “Good night, then,” he says firmly.

With a loud scoff, Louis tugs his robe on. He’s going to kill Zayn for getting him into this mess. That’s what he decides later as he lies in a spare bedroom on night one of his honeymoon, alone.

+

**DAYS LATER**

To Louis’ carefully concealed dismay, Harry enters the dining hall, beautiful as ever, with his red robe dragging behind him and his hair in an unkempt bun. He clearly hasn’t put much, if any, effort into his appearance which makes it especially annoying that he looks near perfect.

Louis hadn’t expected company for breakfast, but his new husband is full of surprises.

“Good morning,” Harry says with a half-hearted bow of his head. He takes a seat at the opposite end of the table and reaches for his cup of water, thanking the servant who pours it for him. He looks at the suckling pig in the centre of the table and after a beat, meets Louis’ gaze.

“I’m a vegetarian,” he announces.

Louis exhales through his nose like a weary, overlaboured horse. He lifts the large turkey leg on his plate and has a generous bite. “That’s unfortunate,” he says with his mouth full. He uses his tongue to pick a bit of meat from between his teeth.

Harry’s upper lip curls. He reaches for a roll of bread and rips angrily into it. He spreads jam across it as if sharpening the knife and then stuffs the bit of bread into his mouth. They glare at each other, masticating like animals, all decorum lost.

Louis has a large gulp of his tea and drags his wrist across his mouth. “What were you playing at up there?”

“Excuse me?” Harry asks, his brow cocked.

“Why did you pretend to be human?” Louis asks.

Harry sits back in his seat, looking amused. “I could ask you the same thing,” he says. “In fact, I think anyone would be more curious why a god who has all this” — he gestures around them — ”would venture Up Top to play human.”

“It’s my _job_ to be on the surface from time-to-time,” Louis says.

Both brows shoot upwards now. “Patronizing _dive bars_?” Harry asks.

Louis doesn’t have to answer his questions. He doesn’t have to pander to him at all. He’s done speaking to him, in fact. “I have less than you think,” he says anyhow.

Harry laughs garishly. “Try being homeless. There are humans that could tell you all about it. With your pig and your turkey legs, you obviously know a lot about throwing a feast, but nothing at all about famine.”

When he's finished, Louis lets him sit there feeling proud of himself for no more than a minute, and then he leans forward.

“You’ll be spending a lot of time here — an eternity in fact — so let's get something straight,” Louis begins. “You don’t know a single fucking thing about me and since you’ve got that stick wedged so far up your arse, you’re unlikely to learn. You don’t get to come into _my_ kingdom, sit at _my_ table, and judge me. If that’s your plan, you can eat elsewhere.”

“I don't want to be here, you dickhead. If I could leave, I’d've done so already.”

“The door to Olympus is hard to miss,” Louis says, waving in its general direction. “Feel free.”

Of course, there’d be a quarantine waiting for Harry in Olympus to bring him right back, but Louis doesn’t say so. He wants Harry to try leaving. There’s even a part of him that wants Harry to be successful. He didn’t sign up for this either. He thought he was marrying into a dream, not a nightmare.

“I’ve lost my appetite,” Harry says, standing. “Enjoy your pig.”

He leaves with a flourish of his robes, the doors of the Great Hall slamming shut and shuddering after him. Louis reaches for his tea and has a sip.

A small laugh slips from his mouth.

He's been alive since the beginning of time which leaves a lot of space for his memory to fail him. But he's more than sure no one has ever looked the God of the Underworld in the face and called him a dickhead.

+

Louis stands in the midst of a briefing with Eleanor when a fragrant smell drifts into the room. He tilts his nose to the air and breathes in deep.

“What is that?” he interrupts Eleanor to ask the room.

“Your husband is having a bath, m’lord,” one of the servants replies.

Eleanor arches her brows and Louis waves for her to continue. She does. But he can no longer focus. After only a minute, he gives up and steps down from his throne.

“That’s enough for today,” he says and starts in the direction of the baths.

It’s more of a pool than a bath, large enough for twenty people, and carved from the jagged rock of the earth. When Louis arrives, there’s steam filling up the space between the columns that bolster the mosaiced ceiling. Water reflects topaz light in kaleidoscope patterns across the rock, shifting and swaying. And there, in the centre of it all, is Harry.

He’s sunk low in the iridescent water, leaving his nose and eyes exposed. His hands move forward and back, shifting the petals of rose and lavender around, cupping them in his palms and blowing them off. It’s like that moment in the bar all over again. Louis can’t look away. He spends too much time frozen there. Before he knows it, Harry is climbing out, water dripping from his glowing skin like heavy rain. Louis studies every inch of him, his heart knocking against his chest rapidly. He watches him wring his hair out and run a towel through it, and then wrap the towel around his waist.

Louis doesn’t think to move, to leave, to hide. Harry turns and stills, his lips thinned, jaw locked.

“Like what you see?” he asks.

Louis exhales. “Yes, actually.”

It’s not the answer Harry expected. He would have worked harder to conceal his blush if so. Instead, the tops of his ears begin to darken and he looks away. “Show’s over.”

He passes Louis by, leaving the scent of posies drifting after him, which is all Louis can smell for days.

+

Harry is escorted back to Hades by five armoured guards and refuses to look Louis in the eye. He stands in Louis’ bedroom with his chin proudly lifted, and his shoulders squared. Louis would be annoyed about being awoken in the middle of night if he weren’t so amused. With his nod, the guards leave. Harry turns to do the same.

“Not you,” Louis says, lighting a cigarette. The lighter snaps closed and he tosses it aside and leans back on his palm. “I’m a bit disappointed. You didn’t even make it to Olympus.”

Harry crosses his arms tightly. “Did you keep me back to gloat?”

“Not necessarily,” Louis says, scratching his tummy. He exhales smoke through his nose.

“Is there a reason you’re not wearing any bloody clothes?” Harry asks, his gaze focused intently on the wall.

Louis looks down at his cock, resting on his thigh. “I sleep without them.”

Harry scoffs and gathers the hem of his robe up. “Am I free to leave, _my Lord_?”

“You’re a pain in the arse, you know that?”

“Good,” Harry says.

Louis studies him and the longer he does, the darker Harry’s blush grows, the more he fidgets.

“ _What_?” Harry finally blurts.

“I can’t let you leave,” Louis says, exhaling a column of smoke towards the canopy of his bed. “You’re a peace offering. It was you or war. That’s the deal.”

Harry shakes his head and looks at Louis, naked or not. “You gods and your politics. The rest of us are all just pieces in your game, yeah? My mother weeps, did you know that? Every night that I’m not in Olympus, she weeps.”

Louis outs his cigarette on his kneecap. He sighs, dragging his hands down his face and over his stubble. “How can I make this easier for you?”

“You can’t.”

“Give me something.”

“There’s nothing—”

“I want you, Harry,” Louis says, and it seems like all of Hades falls silent.

Harry stares at him confusedly. When he seems to understand, his gaze slides to the floor. He opens his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out.

“War or no war, politics or none, I want you here,” Louis explains, the skin along his cheekbones and neck warming. Who would've thought he could blush? But he does. Picture that. A god blushing over romantic confessions. “The night we first spoke— I don’t know who you were pretending to be in that bar, but the person you met was me. I wanted you then. And unfortunately, I still want you now.”

Harry still doesn’t respond for several seconds, chewing his bottom lip. Louis is beginning to think he won’t when he does.

“It doesn’t work that way,” Harry says quietly. “You can’t force me to stay here and expect me to like it.”

“I would have said no to Zeus — _Zayn_ — if I’d known you wouldn’t like it.”

“Does anyone _like_ being married off?”

“That’s fair,” Louis says. He props his elbows up atop his knees and rests his chin on his folded hands. “Give me three months.”

Harry’s brows crease. “For what?”

“Stay here with me for three months,” Louis says, picking nonchalantly at his duvet. “When that time is up, if you still want to go, I’ll escort you to Olympus myself.”

Harry glances behind him like he’s expecting to see an audience or a camera. “What's the catch?”

“There's no catch.”

“Sorry, but the last time you said that, you turned out to be King of the Underworld.”

Louis huffs a laugh. “That's also fair.”

They share a fleeting smile. Harry purses his lips and pushes a hand through his hair and Louis envies him. He’d love to feel those curls slipping through his fingers too.

“Do you swear?” Harry asks.

“I swear,” Louis says and draws an ‘x’ over his inessential heart. “Deal?”

Harry hesitates. “Everyone knows you shouldn’t make deals with the devil.”

“Really, Harry.”

Harry straightens his spine and draws a breath. “Deal.”

Louis relights his cigarette and takes a long inhale. “In the meantime,” he says, “what would make you happier here?”

He expects Harry to say ‘nothing’ again, to make this as difficult as possible for Louis, which would be fine. Louis never expected it to be easy.

Harry twists one of his rings around his finger. “I’d like a plot of land for a small garden.”

Louis smiles. “Why a small garden when you can have all of it?”

“All?”

“Yes. For the time being, you’re also king here, which means the land is also yours. If you see a place where you'd like to plant something, plant it. Anything else?”

Harry blinks. “My doves,” he says. “Mira and Fay. I left them in Olympus.”

“I’ll have them here by morning.”

Harry bites his bottom lip again. Louis watches his Adam’s apple bob and then Harry ducks into a small bow. “Thank you, my Lord.”

“Now, a favour for me,” Louis says. “Stop calling me that.”

“What would you like me to call you?” Harry asks.

“Louis.”

A moment passes between them that feels familiar, its potency hidden in the quirk of Harry’s mouth. It’s all such a tease, having him here, smiling like he did that night. Closer than ever, but farther away.

“Am I free to go?” Harry asks, his voice soft.

“Yes.” _But I'd like you to stay._

Harry bows his head again. “Goodnight, Louis.”

“Goodnight.”


	2. Part Two

In two weeks, Harry takes every expanse of soil from one end of the kingdom to the next and bestows it with flowering and fruit trees. He plants plums, oranges, peaches, apples and strawberries. It’s mid-September on the surface but below it’s eternal summer. All of the flowers have been enchanted to grow at once, but not the fruit. When Louis asks why, he says:

“It’s nice to wait for them.”

Harry’s hand hovers over a rose bush and in an instant, the petals intensify in their vibrancy and unfold like birds rousing from slumber. Satisfied, he moves on. Louis follows him, a little bit like a puppy or even a kid at the circus. He can’t think of anyone else with power like Harry’s, the kind that’s pure and selfless. There’s not a trace of darkness to be found in planting gardens, is there?

“The first bite of fruit is more rewarding when you've had to wait all season for it,” Harry adds.

And that—

That hits close to the heart.

Louis spends a sickening amount of time lately thinking about Harry’s lips and how close he’d come to kissing them. How he’d practically tasted him. Can still sort of taste him on the air whenever he’s close enough. Louis may never get the chance again, but it goes without saying it’d be worth the wait if he did.

It's the first time he's been escorted through the meadows by Harry. to the river Eridanos and Harry sits on the plush grass, stretching one leg out in front of him, bending the other. The dark red silk of his robe falls away from his bare thigh, revealing golden crescent moons of hair.

Bright scarlet colored fish dart beneath the water, and Louis focuses his attention on them instead. It's easy for the garden to distract him now. Harry left no stone unturned, no flower unplanted. As a human, he was the life of the party. Maybe, if he stays, he’ll be the same for the Underworld.

One of the doves comes and perches on Harry’s shoulder. He lifts a berry to her, then strokes her pearl white feathers. He glances at Louis and lifts his hand, revealing blueberries he must have conjured up.

“Thought you said you were waiting for the fruit,” Louis says, taking a blueberry.

“It's healthy to break your own rules sometimes.”

“Sure but your rule didn’t last very long though, did it?”

“It’s called a brief lapse in judgement,” Harry says. “Try it.”

He must mean the blueberry, not the lapse in judgement. Louis’ suffered plenty of the latter. Being married to someone who mostly hates him and all.

Louis pops the blueberry into his mouth and isn’t surprised at all to find it’s juicy and sweet. “Not bad,” he says and Harry smiles just as smug as if Louis had bowed down to him.

“So,” Louis says.

Harry feeds another blueberry to his bird. “So?”

“You never told me why you pretend to be human.”

“It’s not an exciting reason, I have to warn you,” Harry says.

“I’ll judge for myself.”

Harry pulls both knees to his chest. “I was bored, I guess. And I’d heard of other immortals doing it. The very first time I went, I met Nick and Alexa. They’re cynics to the bone, but they’re hilarious and they’ve always got something going on. They took me to concerts and shows and restaurants, and I’ve never felt more alive than when I was around them. Mortals are incredibly fortunate. They know their time is limited, so they make the best of it. I can’t find one god who does the same thing.”

Harry tilts his head back, shutting his eyes. “What's your excuse?” he murmurs.

Louis would rather not follow all that up. His reason is definitely less exciting. “I like to watch,” he says. “Humans. Mortals, whatever. That's why I go up.”

“Aside from having to do your job, you mean?”

“I was mostly lying about that. There are others who collect souls for me. When I go, it’s because I get bored just like you and mortals are — predictable, yeah — but never boring.”

“And yet they wish they were us,” Harry says. “‘Be careful what you wish for’ has never been more applicable.”

“You're not a little grateful for your immortality?”

“Don’t know why I should be,” Harry says. “Personally I'd much rather live a life and die peacefully. There's nothing wrong with that. What's the point of immortality when it's just the same thing over and over again?”

Louis can't disagree with any of that, can he? He felt the same on nights when he could admit to himself he was lonely.

They sit quietly, side-by-side, and it’s so tranquil out there — the trickle of water and the fluttering of bird wings and the rush of a breeze through a willow tree. Louis could get used to this. If he ever has the chance to.

“I don’t think it has to be so doom and gloom,” Louis says eventually. “Things can get boring in our world, sure. But look what you just did here. It’s never been this green before. I think eternity can be whatever you make it. Especially if you’ve got someone or something that’s worth all that time. Why live a life when you can live endless lives? Spend a century in Paris followed by another in New York? That should never get boring.”

Harry looks at him. “Someone who's worth all that time,” he repeats. “Who knew Hades could be so optimistic?”

Louis likes the way Harry’s gaze lingers on him. He basks in the attention like Harry does the sun. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” he says, tilting his head back like Harry had moments ago. He chances a glance at him.

Harry’s lips twitch and he looks away. “I’m not opposed to learning.”

And now…Louis is in danger of blushing again.

+

In a thousand years, there would be stories of how Persephone was stolen away to the Underworld and forced to marry the mad, lecherous king. But theologians would probably miss the tales of how Hades romances him.

There's only one thing Louis is truly ruthless in regards to and it turns out to be courtship.

For the rest of September, he has roses and sunflowers brought to Harry’s bedroom every morning. He has the baths cleaned and ready for him every night. He sets the kitchen staff to the task of preparing vegetarian options for every meal. His familiars urge him not to allow Harry up to the human world, that ‘the new king can’t be trusted’, but Louis ignores them. He can’t see how he’ll win Harry’s heart if he keeps him from seeing his friends.

The only problem is that Harry spends a lot of time with his friends and when he’s not with them, he’s in the garden. And when he’s not in the garden, he’s bathing. And when he’s not bathing, he’s making friends with inhabitants of the Underworld. Which leaves no time at all for Louis, and when he looks up and realizes it’s October, his resolve wavers the slightest.

It only makes matters worse when a brawl erupts between a group of half-demons and half-angels Up Top, ends with one of his own injured, and reinvigorates calls for war.

“He could have been killed,” Eleanor says.

“He nearly was,” another familiar adds.

“When will Zeus take accountability?”

“When will you do something about your brothers?”

“They’re out of control.”

“Don’t we have enough problems with humans?”

“My Lord.”

“Your grace.”

“Enough,” Louis grumbles, but his voice is too soft. A headache blooms at his temples.

The court babbles on.

“Something has to be done.”

“They have to be stopped.”

“Your highness.”

Louis curls his hand around his spear, lifts it a mere foot off the ground, and slams the heel back into the stone. The fire around the throne room blazes bright blue and soars up towards the cavernous ceiling. The rock shudders and rains slivers of dust and debris. It’s uncomfortably hot all of a sudden, not for Louis, but for everyone else. Oppressive, stinging heat that claws at the skin. Louis’ irises glow and flicker with the same blue flame.

“I said” — his voice is like jagged rock and smoke — “Enough.”

The only sound is the crackling and roaring of fire. All heads are inclined because it’s deadly to look Louis in the eye when he’s like this. A blot of movement to the right of the room diverts his attention and Harry is standing there, suddenly, dressed in pink. He’s leaning against the wall, looking Louis right in the eyes.

The flame dies slightly.

Harry lifts his brows and gives him a small, reassuring smile. He doesn’t seem scared at all. And that does funny, human things to Louis’ body. He swallows around a strange lump in his throat and looks away.

“That’s enough for today,” he says, his voice returning to normal. He stands. “Leave.”

He steps down from his throne with Cerberus padding heavily behind him. He enters the corridor, passing Harry without looking at him again. He can still feel irritation itching his skin and the husband who he can’t touch won’t help.

Harry doesn’t get the hint and follows him anyway.

“Are you alright?”

“Obviously, not,” Louis says. That probably won’t score him any points either, but he can’t care right now. Tomorrow maybe.

Harry is undeterred. “I hear you can make someone burst into flame just by looking at them.”

Louis’ brows wrinkle. “And?”

“That’s kind of hot. Pun not intended.”

Louis stops, turns and looks at him. “It is, is it?”

“ _I_ think so. Particularly because you don’t do it,” Harry says. “You could smite everyone in that room the second they piss you off, but you don’t.”

Louis narrows his eyes. “What are you up to?”

“Can't I simply give you a compliment?”

“It depends. I might start to think you like me.”

Harry smiles. “I’m trying to cheer you up,” he says, which isn’t a denial.

Louis hesitates. “I’ll be fine,” he says. He’s already less irritated than he was five seconds ago. He glances fleetingly at Harry’s smiling mouth and then whistles softly for Cerberus to follow him, and turns away.

“We should get out of here.”

Louis stops again and swivels around. “What?”

“You haven’t left the Underworld since I came here,” Harry says. “Why is that?”

Louis hates being caught off-guard but it’s becoming a common occurrence between them. This conversation alone is giving him whiplash.

“You’d really like to know?” he asks after a beat has passed.

“It’s why I asked,” Harry says.

“A month ago, I started going Up to see you,” Louis says. “Now you’re here.”

Harry is quiet for a moment, just looking at him, then doing his best to hide a smirk. He doesn’t seem at all surprised which is annoying. It’s almost like he assumed the answer already and only wanted to hear Louis say it. “Still a sweet-talker,” he says.

“I’m not so sweet with everyone else,” Louis says. “Any other questions?”

Harry shakes his head. “We should get out of here,” Harry says again.  “I think you need a break.”

Louis doesn’t take breaks, but that’s irrelevant in the face of Harry’s proposal. He tucks his hands into his pockets. “And where would we go?”

Harry mimics him with his hands stuffed into his pockets. “Anywhere.”

And Louis can’t pass that up, can he?

+

They leave in the Bentley minutes later, stopping only to change into jeans and T-shirts. Harry pushes his sunnies on and peers around the car.

“Nice ride,” he says, stroking the armrest.

“Thanks. You still haven’t said where you want to go.”

“I’m not choosy,” Harry says. “I’m only here for emotional support.”

“You should know this is a common occurrence. Eleanor and the others piss me off all the time. I’m always at war with my brothers. Sometimes I lose my temper. The usual.”

Harry studies him. “You _do_ seem less lethal. No glowy eyes.”

“There you go,” Louis says. “You don't have to ‘cheer me up’.”

“For someone who wants me around, you’re trying very hard not to hang out with me.”

Louis looks at him. “That’s not—”

“Just drive,” Harry says, sounding very calm and very sure like an aged karate master. He reclines his head against the leather headrest. “Go where the wind takes you.”

+

Harry finds a radio station he likes about two minutes into the ride. There’s a Leon Bridges song on that Harry drums his fingers to the beat of, arm cradled on the windowsill.

Louis glances at him as furtively as he can. At a stop light, he looks at him for a second too long and Harry looks back.

“Yes?” he says.

Louis rolls his eyes. “Nothing.”

“What’s the deal with your brothers?” Harry asks randomly. “Are they aiming to piss you off or what?”

“I thought you were trying to cheer me up?”

“I thought you were feeling better.”

“So you want to rile me up again?”

“Sounds fun,” Harry says with what Louis thinks is a suggestive quirk of his brow. “But I’m curious actually. We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to. I’m just saying it all feels like more than typical sibling rivalry.”

“You’ve been spending too much time with humans,” Louis says. “My brothers and I originated from the same being’s intentions. I was created to rule the Underworld. Zayn to rule Olympus, etcetera, etcetera. That’s our earliest memory. We didn’t grow up together. There are no familial tales to recall. I know them, yeah, but I can’t say we have some sort of familial bond.”

“That’s a little sad,” Harry says.

“It’s not. It’s the way of gods. You were created the same way I was and for some specific reason too.”

“I don’t think my origins are so singular.”

“You made barren land sprout fruit trees in days,” Louis says. “I think that has something to do with your origins.”

“I just like gardening.”

Louis shakes his head. “It makes you uncomfortable, doesn’t it?”

“What’s that?” Harry asks, his gaze directed through the passenger window.

“The thought of being created for a purpose. It makes you feel more god and less human.”

“Sure, it makes me uncomfortable,” Harry says. “I can’t say I’m happy about the idea that Spring won’t happen without me or that someone's flowers might not bloom if I happen to be in a bad mood. It’s a lot of responsibility.”

“Is that why our marriage turns you off too?” Louis doesn’t fully think his question through, but it’s out now and there’s no getting it back.

“Sorry?” Harry asks, turning to him fully.

“Too much responsibility,” Louis explains. “If you meet me in a bar and take me home, it’s just sex with an interesting person. But in the Underworld, you’re suddenly king. You’ve suddenly got people looking up to you. I’m asking if that turns you off.”

“Yes,” Harry says without pause. “I never wanted to be anyone’s king.”

At least he’s being honest.

It’s tense in the car afterwards even with Harry humming along to the music. Louis wonders again if he’s gone soft. A thousand years ago, he can’t recall wanting a spouse or tolerating anyone who annoyed him this much.

“For the record, that’s not the primary reason,” Harry says suddenly. “Obviously it’s that I didn’t have a choice in the matter. You never even got down on one knee.”

Louis drums his fingers on the steering wheel and doesn’t speak for a long while.

“I could.”

Harry inclines his ear. “What?”

Louis has to force the words out, wrangling with his pride, pinning it to the mat. “If you insisted, I’d consider— I don’t see the point, obviously, but if you wanted an actual proposal, I’d consider—”

A snicker slips past Harry’s lips.

“What?” Louis asks, affronted.

“Would you kneel?” Harry asks. “It doesn’t count if I don’t get the full treatment.”

Louis’ jaw locks. “I wouldn’t go that far. I’d drop the ring in your wine glass maybe. Surprise you during dinner.”

“Just admit you want me to choke.”

That shocks a laugh out of Louis, has him curling close to the steering wheel, and the tension is sucked through the windows and out from between them. It’s maybe the first time since Harry came that it’s not been stuck in the undercurrent.

+

The wind takes them to a bar first, where they have three drinks each and listen to a live musician cover ‘Sweet Home Alabama’. Harry stands beside Louis’ bar stool, swaying and turning in odd incomplete circles to the music. He was a better dancer the first time, but to be fair, hardly anyone at the bar is dancing and it’s hard to keep up with the singer’s rhythm and he’s a little tipsy.

They don’t stay long. Louis can’t bear to watch Harry suck another cherry from another syrupy drink into his mouth without losing it.

“Do you want to swim?” Harry asks, straying from the direction of the car once their outside.

“Where? It’s September.”

“Indoor pool,” Harry says, smiling. “I know a place. Come on.”

Louis doesn’t know what he’s expecting, but when they arrive at someone’s private home a ten-minute walk away, he’s not disappointed. He dabbles in occasional B&E himself.

“I know the woman who lives here,” Harry says.

“You think she’ll mind you breaking into her home?”

Harry presses a finger to his lips to shush him. They slip through the back garden. The pool is small and tucked into a sunroom that’s lined with vibrant plants and flowers. The homeowner clearly has a green thumb, which maybe is how Harry knows her, or knows _of_ her.

The sunroom door is locked, of course, when they approach it. But that’s not a problem. They don’t technically need to use the door at all. Louis takes Harry’s wrist and simply wills them on the opposite side of the glass. It’s warm inside and comfortably humid. Reluctantly, Louis releases his hand.

Harry yanks his shirt over his head and strips down to just his pants. “Come on,” he urges Louis, lowering himself into the pool already. The waterline stops at his neck. He dips his head down, wetting his hair, and when he resurfaces, Louis removes everything but his pants, feeling Harry’s eyes laser-focused on his body. He sinks into the pool.

“It’s warm,” Harry says as if Louis can’t feel it.

It’s quiet. Awkwardly quiet for a second.

“How do you know the person who lives here?” Louis asks.

“She’s a friend of a friend,” Harry says. “Came here for a party once. Not a pool party, though.”

“You’ve been holding a grudge ever since.”

“Precisely,” Harry says. He swims backwards in a lazy circle.

“Why didn’t I ever see you until now? At any of Zeus’ parties? Why didn’t you ever see me?”

Harry runs his hands over his hair, smoothing it back. “I wasn’t allowed for a while. My mum said it was because I couldn’t control my power. I think it’s because she was scared and overprotective.”

“She had good reason to be.”

“I see that now, no offence,” Harry says. “After a while, I no longer wanted to go to court anyway. Being around humans makes you hate gods just a bit. I managed to avoid it all until my mum met Zeus and that was that.”

“Now you’re here.”

“Now I’m here,” Harry says. “But this is a lovely pool, so I’m not complaining.”

“No love interests in all that time?”

“Bit of an odd question to transition to,” Harry says.

“I’m curious anyway.”

Harry starts to swim again, maybe to avoid looking at Louis. “There was James and Avery. Dated them both. I think I loved them a little, but they didn’t love me. I asked Aphrodite and she said as much.”

Louis laughs. “You must’ve made her day. She loves when people make her feel important.”

“Are you suggesting the goddess of love isn’t important?”

“I’m suggesting you probably don’t need her to tell you whether someone loves you or not. Or vice versa. You should just know.”

Harry stops swimming, positioned directly across from Louis. “Are you speaking from experience?”

Louis ignores that.

Harry smiles, clearly amused. “I’m not as interested in love right now,” he says. “It’s too exhausting and if I wanted someone to exhaust me, I’d take them to bed.”

“Noted,” Louis says.

Harry’s smile grows. He hooks his arms over the pool’s edge, a move that accentuates his sculpted muscles. The tips of his hair just graze his nipples and he must know exactly how good he looks. He’s full of himself, yeah, but it’s more than that.

“You’re not trying to seduce me, are you?” Louis asks, biting his bottom lip instead of laughing like he wants to.

Harry lifts both brows. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

The fact that the question doesn’t totally shock him incriminates him further.

Louis pushes away from the pool wall and swims the short distance to Harry, not missing the way Harry wets his lips. “You thought if you stripped down and looked at me the way you've been all night and talked about love and sex, I’d swim right over to you, yeah?" Louis stops in front of him, close enough to touch but he doesn't. "Bet that was your plan all along.”

Harry laughs and opens his mouth to speak, but Louis beats him to it.

“You’re going to have to try harder than that,” he says. “Kiss me first, even.”

Harry looks momentarily stunned. “Excuse me?”

“I think you heard me fine.”

“Why would I do that?”

“Because when we met in that bar, you were really eager to take me home. And the circumstances may have changed, but the attraction hasn’t. If I recall correctly, though, on our honeymoon night, you said I’d have to force you and I’m offended you even suggested that I’d consider that. So if you want it — and you do — you’ll have to let me know.”

For the first time in a long time, Harry looks something other than smug and Louis revels in it. “A little overconfident,” Harry says, but the bite is missing. He looks disgruntled, as anyone would when they’d lost the upper hand.

“You’re making it easy for me,” Louis says, and then he swims to the centre of the pool, splashing Harry as he kicks and paddles. He’s so hard he thinks if Harry laid one kiss on him, he’d cream himself. But it’s worth it (maybe) for the rush of victory he feels.

_Hades: 1 Persephone: 0_

+

Read: Very brief rush of victory.

Later when he’s lying awake still half-hard over thoughts of Harry, it’s difficult to feel anything close to victorious. He should have kissed him. He’s not in a position to play hard-to-get, knowing how scarcely chances come. ‘I know you want me’, he’d said boldly, but does he? Is it Louis Harry wants or is he simply horny?

He hears a knock at his door and can’t be imagining it because he's not sleepy enough to be imagining anything. He's not sleepy at all. Especially not now.

There's only one person who would disturb him this late.

He sits upright just as the door opens and Harry stands there, shrouded in darkness, wearing a pair of low-rising black silk pyjama bottoms and only those. The trail of hair that runs from his navel and disappears beneath his waistband is visible from here. Louis’ throat goes dry.

Harry steps into the room and shuts the door behind him. Louis watches him approach, his heart thudding, his breath snatched.

Harry comes to a halt at the bed and after a pause, sinks his knee into the mattress.

“What are you doing?” Louis asks.

Harry braces his arms on the mattress, palms splayed on either side of Louis’ body so that he’s hovering over him. The smell of freesia and jasmine drifts away from his skin and the tendrils of his hair that brush Louis’ cheek.

“Harry,” Louis groans, lifting his hands to Harry’s hips, his skin so hot and soft and pliant.

Fucking finally.

Harry’s mouth comes within an inch of Louis’ own. So close his breath tiptoes on Louis’ lips. And then he veers left and presses a kiss to Louis’ cheek.

He draws back. “Good enough for you?” He smiles. “Your move.”

And Louis understands. The shock of it doesn't sink in until Harry is standing at the bedroom door again.

“Good night, Louis,” he says before he slinks back into the dark hallway.

_Hades: 1 Persephone: 1_

+

Eleanor returns from some Saturday morning recon at noon sharp. Her Burberry coat is thrown over her arm. Her boots are loud of the stone floors. She dips her head as she enters the throne room and accepts a glass of wine from a servant. When she looks at Louis, she’s smiling. He lifts his cheek off his fist, his eyes narrowing. He can’t remember the last time she smiled at him. He’s not even sure it’s ever happened at all. Maybe he only knows what her smile looks like because he’d seen her directing it at someone else.

“Have you fallen in love with a human again?” he asks.

“That’s very last millennium, Louis. I don’t do that anymore.” She has a sip of her wine.

“Why do you look so happy then? And should I care?”

“Yes, but it’s good news this time. You should have let me spy on your husband sooner. I took it upon myself to do it anyway, immediately after your wedding. You weren’t very cautious about allowing a stranger into your kingdom, so I obviously had to be.”

“Are you planning to get to the point today or next century?”

Eleanor takes a longer sip of her wine and Louis sighs loudly.

“He has friends Up Top,” Eleanor announces. “Angel friends.”

Louis pets Cerberus whose head rests in his lap. “Don’t tell me you’re about to accuse my new husband of treason.”

He feels sick when he thinks about it. Of course there’s nothing wrong with Harry having “angel friends”. Those would’ve been the kind he spent most of his time in Olympus with. But if he’s been spying for them—

“There hasn’t been a brawl to report in weeks,” Eleanor says. “And we have him to thank.”

Louis looks at her, his hand on Cerberus’ black fur slowing to a still. “Elaborate.”

“He’s diffusing the situation,” Eleanor says. “One friend at a time, I imagine. I don’t know how just yet, but I know he’s settled disputes between angels and demons on his own. Just last week, he stopped a fight from breaking out.” She laughs. “Who would’ve thought? Spouse of Hades, a bloody pacifist.”

And here Louis was considering war.

“I wouldn’t go so far as to say our problems are solved,” Eleanor adds. “But they’ve settled down enough for me to go on holiday with Jacob.”

“Your newest conquest, I’m guessing?”

Eleanor simply smiles. “I think we’ll go to Mallorca.” She finishes off her wine and extracts her phone from her pocket. “That’s all I have to report.”

“You’re free to go then,” Louis says.

With another incline of her head, Eleanor leaves. Louis waits until he can no longer hear the tapping of her boots and then he stands quickly and steps down from his throne.

He finds Harry in the garden surrounded by a gaggle of children, demon children with tiny, newly sprouted horns. Some are adorned with thick flower crowns of rose, lotus, and lily to match the one perched on Harry’s head. He’s in the process of weaving crowns for the other children and Louis can’t figure out what he likes looking at more. The patient smile or his careful fingers.

The kids duck their heads as Louis approaches. Harry slows his work but doesn’t stop, pulling the line of thread taught. “Finished with your debrief already?” he asks.

“It was surprisingly short today,” Louis says, ducking down, his forearms braced on his knees. “We need to talk.”

“What have I done now?”

Louis stands. “Come with me,” he says, and to the kids, he adds: “He’ll be back.”

Harry stands reluctantly, dusting his clothing off, and follows Louis inside, beyond the stone archways and their billowing white curtains. He’s brought a floral wreath with him and waits until they’re shrouded in shade to extend it. “Would you like one?”

Louis dips his head forward, allowing Harry to set the flowers atop. “How do I look?”

“Not bad,” Harry decides. “This one’s much better than your other crown.”

Louis has several crowns, but he assumes Harry’s referring to the one made of bones. “I hardly wear it.”

“Good, I prefer you in this,” Harry says, crossing his arms. “Are you here to reprimand me or what?”

Louis is still a little stuck on the crown business. That Harry prefers him in anyway whatsoever. He folds his arms behind his back. “I came to thank you.”

Harry’s brows arch. “Now, I’m really nervous.”

Louis looks at the children still running around outside. “Eleanor says there’s been a slight decrease in disputes between angels and demons. Says you had something to do with that.”

Harry swipes a wisp of hair away from his eye. “I just had a talk with someone I know. Nothing too heroic. Happy to help, though.”

“But you didn’t have to,” Louis says, returning his gaze to him. He doesn’t know how he’s looking at him but it makes Harry go silent. Which is good. “That thing you did a few weeks ago, when you came to my bedroom-- It doesn’t count.”

Harry’s lips twitch. “You started it.”

The corridor is narrow and all it takes is one short stride for Louis to put himself right in Harry’s space. He’s grateful for that. He might have second-guessed himself if it took any longer to get this close. It gets very quiet then, the sound of the children’s laughter muddled. Louis looks at Harry’s mouth. “It didn’t count,” he says.

And this wouldn’t either.

Louis leans in, just enough to let Harry slink away if he wanted. He doesn’t. And then their mouths _fall_ together. Like the earth tilts and gravity stops functioning and Louis’ got nowhere to go but forward. It’s just a brush of lips at first, but then Harry’s lips part and his hands meet Louis’ skin, and the thought of stopping seems outrageous. Harry’s hands are warm on his cheek and on his neck, where he must feel his pulse flying. Louis allows one, maybe two swipes of their tongues and then he steps away. Harry makes to follow him before he catches himself, his eyes opening. He takes a step back and plasters himself to the wall, sinking his teeth into his bottom lip.

“Thank you,” Louis says, folding his arms behind his back again, digging his fingernails into his forearms.

There’s a deep blush climbing its way up Harry’s neck and cheekbones. “That wasn’t fair,” he says.

“Oh, good,” Louis says, turning away. “You’re catching on.”

+

October draws to a close, but the kiss is never mentioned or repeated. There are near-occurrences. Late nights, frozen in the corridor before they retire to their separate rooms. Moments halted in the garden when they’ve looked at each other for a second too long. Two nights ago even, they were stood on the balcony and it must have been the effect of the starlight that made them both teeter close and then away. It’s infuriating, but not completely hopeless.

Harry enters the dining hall with one of the hounds, Sammael, padding behind him. His blouse is airy and white, his skin glowing. He pours himself a cup of tea and replaces the pot softly, yawning into the back of his hand. Louis watches him spread strawberry jam on a scone and lowers his gaze quickly when Harry finally looks across the table.

“What are you reading?”

Harry’s voice is impossibly deep after just waking up and Louis feels for a half-second like he’s drowning. He can’t drown obviously, being immortal. But this might be the closest he’ll ever come. Louis lifts the paper in his hands, showing Harry the cover.

“Jornal do Brasil,” Louis says. “It’s the daily paper published out of Rio De Janeiro.”

Harry lifts his brows. “Do you read that every morning?”

“Not this specific one, no. A different paper every morning.”

“I didn’t know you spoke Portuguese,” Harry says.

“I speak every language.”

“Right, of course.” Harry has a bite of his scone, propping his elbow up on the table. “Big plans for tonight?”

Louis puts his paper down. Harry is clearly in the mood to chat and suddenly Louis is too. “Nothing yet. You?”

Harry hesitates, lifting his teacup. “My friend, Alexa, is having a Halloween-themed dinner party,” he says. “You’re welcome to come with.”

“As your date?”

“I didn’t say that.”

Louis purses his lips, his gaze drifting to a random spot across the room. “Hm. That’s not really an answer.”

A little huff of breath leaves Harry’s mouth. “Do you want to come with me or not?”

“Do you want me to come with you?”

Harry sets his teacup down with a heavy thud. “For fuck’s sake,” he groans. “I wouldn’t’ve asked if I didn’t want you to come.”

Louis presses his smile into the rim of his cup and takes a dainty sip. “I’d be happy to join you as your date, Harry. Thank you for asking.”

Harry stares at him, mystified. “And _I’m_ a pain in _your_ arse?”

“Nothing but the truth, love.”

Harry tosses a chunk of his scone across the table, which Louis dodges with only a slight tilt of his head. “It might be fancy dress, by the way. I have to double-check.”

Louis turns a page in his newspaper. “Should I go as Lucifer?” he asks and then dodges another piece of scone.

+

Alexa’s Halloween party is held on the top floor of an upscale bar in Chelsea. Between the abundant skylights and the fairy lights strung up from wall to wall, the whole space appears to glitter and glow, beams reflected in the polished silverware and wine glasses filled with prosecco. Two tables are set up picnic style and the name tags ‘Harry and guest’ appear on the table where Alexa and their closest friends are seated. Louis knows their names already, but Harry introduces him for show.

“How do you two know each other?” Alexa asks just seconds after oysters have been served. She props her chin on her fist, her smile big and disarming. The fancy dress turned out to be optional. While Louis stuck with his black suit and Harry his black jeans, Alexa is dressed in a full-blown witch getup, complete with pointy hat and shoes, and a patina effect to her skin that doesn’t make her any less beautiful.

“We met at that bar in Tribeca,” Harry says, filling their water glasses. “The one we went to for Clare’s birthday.”

“And you never brought him over?” Nick asks.

“I was sitting with him for a while,” Harry says, taking a sip of his wine. “You were all too drunk to notice.”

“So you two are…?” Clare trails off.

Married. “Dating, yes,” Harry says. “Could we talk about someone else now?”

“Louis,” Nick says, ignoring him. “What is it you do?”

“I’m a mortician,” Louis says.

On cue, Harry coughs, thumping his palm against his chest.

“Alright, babe?” Louis asks.

“I’m fine,” Harry breathes.

“How fascinating,” Alexa declares, leaning forward. “I’ve always wondered what inspires a person to choose that career path.”

“Can’t say I chose it,” Louis says. “More like I was born into it.”

Harry sets a hand on Louis’ thigh and squeezes.

“So you’re from a family of morticians?” Clare asks.

“Not exactly—”

“Louis and I are moving in together,” Harry interrupts. “I bet this seems sudden, but we’ve already found a place, so. Should we celebrate? How about shots? Nick, shots? Clare? Let’s all take a shot.”

Nick’s eyes turn to slits.

Alexa claps her hands together. “Yes! They have the best selection of tequila here.”

They receive congrats from Nick and Clare and the others, and share a toast. Harry leans in close to Louis and hisses, “A mortician?”

"I thought it was clever," Louis says. "You're not impressed?"

Harry lifts his wine glass but pauses before he takes a sip. "A little."

+

It’s well past midnight when they return. A slight mist dampens their hair and clothing as Louis helps Harry out of the Bentley. He’s so drunk Louis doesn’t trust him to walk on his own. He keeps close with a hand on Harry’s hip, leading him to the door and then into the foyer.

“Did you have fun with my friends?” Harry murmurs while Louis pushes the door closed behind them.

“‘Course,” Louis says. “I see why you like them so much.”

Harry’s smile is sort of lopsided and lazy and effortless, but effective as always. Louis peels his eyes away from his mouth.

The steps to the Underworld aren’t long by any means but they feel that way when intoxicated and Louis doesn’t really trust himself to get them both there in one piece.

There’s a bedroom in the house for pretence, of course, but it would do. Just one bedroom, though. He loops his arm around Harry’s waist and leads him there. They pause in the doorway, Louis running his hand along the wall in search of the light switch. Harry drapes his long arms over Louis’ shoulders, shifting his weight into him suddenly and throwing him slightly off balance.

“Are you feeling sick?” Louis asks, steadying them with both hands on Harry’s hips.

Harry pushes his whole face into the crook of Louis’ neck. “I feel fine,” he murmurs, his breath and his lips grazing Louis’ skin. Louis forgoes the light switch and shuffles Harry quickly towards the bed, eager to stop touching him before he no longer can.

“Here we go,” he says, easing him down. Harry plops down on the mattress, bouncing momentarily. He falls backwards, his hair spilling around his head. Louis reaches for his shoes. “Let’s get these off.”

He removes his boots and tosses them aside, meeting Harry’s gaze again.

“Are you sleeping here too?” Harry asks.

Louis takes a breath. “Just for tonight. Keeping an eye on you.”

(Although Harry would be just fine.)

“My hero,” Harry says quietly. His legs part just the slightest, as if the bulge in his jeans wasn’t obvious enough. “The night’s still young.”

Louis pinches the bridge of his nose. “No, it isn’t, Harry. You should sleep.”

“Is that what you want?” Harry asks, sliding his hand up to his top button. He pops it open. His gaze lands on Louis’ crotch. “I don’t think that’s what you want.”

“Harry—”

“Just fuck me already.”

Numerous battles fought and enemies defeated and yet this is the thing Louis can’t handle. This is the only way to best the God of the Underworld. It’s not that Louis has gone soft. It’s just that he’s found his one weakness.

He shakes his head. “You’re drunk, baby.”

“I want you sober.”

“You want me, do you?”

Harry loosens another button, spreads his legs a little wider. Louis takes an involuntary step closer, his heart near to stopping. It wouldn’t kill him, but it feels like it might. He sinks a knee into the mattress between Harry’s legs and leans in. Harry’s hands move to his hips immediately, move up along his back.

“I’ve had enough of this, Louis,” he says. “You’re driving me insane.”

How ironic.

Louis presses his palms into the mattress on either side of Harry’s body with some resistance left. He keeps himself suspended above him but Harry isn’t deterred at all. He sits upright and kisses Louis’ throat and collarbones, and then his mouth. He kisses him there until the resolve breaks and all the reasons Louis has for resisting no longer seem important.

Harry forgoes the rest of his buttons to yank his shirt over his head, moonlight spilling over his chest and abs. He scrambles to undo his jeans and gets them off but the pants remain, and Louis can tell already how hard he is. There’s a blot of moisture darkening the material and his thighs and fingers tremble. Louis watches him expose more and more of his golden skin and meets his gaze as Harry begins to push the pants away.

The meadows that have sprung up all over the kingdom could never compare to how lush he is.

But—

This isn’t how Louis imagined it happening. How quick and unfocused it is. This is how he’s done it with consorts and humans he’s picked up in bars. This is how fleeting encounters start when he plans to forget them by morning.

Everything is so fast it's blurred and Louis preferred to have this moment happen in perfect clarity. It's just as he gets a flash of dark pubic hair and the deep indent of Harry’s pelvis that he speaks.

“Stay with me.”

Because it’s not right if Harry doesn’t intend to stay, if they fuck fast and wild and with senseless abandon, this becomes any other one-night stand. And Louis can’t have Harry once.

Harry freezes. He looks suddenly like a figure carved from marble but with flushed cheeks and lips red and glowing like pomegranate seeds. Louis brushes a lock away from his forehead.

“I can’t,” Harry says.

“Why not?”

Harry shakes his head. “Not now, Louis.”

“It has to be now.”

Harry sighs, pushing Louis away clumsily with his hands on his chest. “Why can’t we just fuck and get it over with? Why do you have to make it so bloody complicated?” He sits upright. “That must be the catch, isn’t it? You tell me you’ll let me go in three months but I can’t have sex with anyone else until then. And I can’t have sex with you if I don’t stay.” He grabs his jeans and starts to yank them on, tipping forward, and righting himself with a palm slapped to the boudoir. “No, I’m not going to fucking stay. You can’t force me to stay here.”

Louis sits on the edge of the mattress. “No one’s forcing you to stay. In another month, you can leave if you want.” He hopes his tone is cold because the alternative is him sounding hurt. That’s about all the emotion he can manage right now. “If it’s just about sex, no one’s stopping you from sleeping around either. I’m sure you could find someone in that bar you like.”

“Some marriage this is, yeah?” Harry says with a laugh.

“Says the one who can’t wait for it to be over.”

“Are you even capable of loving someone?” Harry asks. “Is it me you actually care about or am I just another thing to be conquered?”

Louis narrows his eyes.

“Have you ever loved anyone at all?” Harry goes on. “ _Anything_ at all?”

“I guess you’ll never know,” Louis says.

Harry glares at him for five seconds. Five seconds exactly is all he can manage. Because he pitches forward slightly, looking like he might dissolve into tears. Louis’ brows wrinkle. Harry does it again, this time bending forward and vomiting on the bedroom floor.

+

Harry wakes in stops and starts. His lashes beat at intervals as if his eyes are going to open but they stay closed. He inhales a breath like he’s come to consciousness but then remains still. He does this several times over and over and you’d think Louis would grow tired of waiting for him but he doesn’t. He just lies there like a lovesick lamb, marvelling over his beauty in the soft, faint glow of morning light.

When Harry does wake finally minutes later, he sees Louis immediately and groans.

“Good morning to you too,” Louis says.

Harry untangles his arm from around Louis’ waist, which Louis wishes he hadn’t noticed so quickly. He rolls onto his back and pushes a fist against his eye, rubbing away the sleep. He looks at Louis with a pout “Good morning. Did I or did I not try to force you to sleep with me last night?”

“I wouldn’t say force, but you were insistent.”

“Right,” Harry says. “Well, I’m very sorry for whatever I said or did.”

Louis purses his lips and rolls onto his back as well.

“You made it clear you’re going to leave,” he says to the ceiling. “Are you sorry for that?”

Of course, Harry doesn’t respond.

“I still have four weeks,” Louis says. “You’ll at least give me that, yeah? Try not to be too miserable?”

“I’m not miserable. Not anymore,” Harry confesses, quietly. “But it was never my choice to be here.”

“It could be your choice to stay.”

“Louis,” Harry sighs.

“Just a suggestion,” Louis says. “The people here like you enough. They’d miss you.”

“The people would, would they?” Harry turns his body towards Louis, folding an arm beneath his head. His smile is soft, tentative. “What happens to this if I leave? Would we still be married or… ?”

“I guess not. We haven't actually—”

“Consummated.”

Louis snorts. “Right.”

“Maybe you should have slept with me last night after all,” Harry suggests.

“And trick you into a loveless, endless marriage?” Louis asks, both brows arched high. “You really think the worst of me.”

Harry props himself up on his elbow and peers wide-eyed at Louis. “I don't,” he says quickly. “I was only joking.”

Louis turns his cheek, staring towards the window.

“I've obviously been wrong from the start,” Harry says. “You’re good, Louis. Out of all the gods I’ve met, you’re the best there is.”

Louis turns back to him with a grin. “Don't forget it.”

“Hey,” Harry whines. “I thought you were genuinely upset.”

Louis laughs, pushing the sheets off his body. He swings his legs over the edge of the mattress and stands. He kept his pants on last night out of respect, but to sleep in his jeans was profane. He stands half-naked in the sunlight, stretching his lean muscled arms over his head, and when he looks, Harry is looking back.

“You're beautiful,” Harry says. “You should know that too.”

“Not sure anyone’s ever called me beautiful.”

Harry’s gaze flickers away. “Well, damn them all.”

+

Harry doesn't see his friends as often as he used to. He claims it’s because they won't stop asking about Louis. Louis doesn’t care what the reason is when Harry’s around all the time now.

Almost every morning they have breakfast together and walk the hounds. Later, they take tea in the garden, staying for hours, sometimes talking, sometimes reading, sometimes doing nothing at all.

They go for sporadic late drives when they're in the mood. Sometimes they stop for a drink or two or three. Sometimes they wind up in bed together later on. But they don't touch or kiss and sometimes Louis tricks himself into thinking that’s alright.

When he wakes with Harry’s body plastered to his front and Harry’s curls in his face, it's hard to think any less than positively about his situation.

Louis allows his optimism to blind him, leaving himself defenceless and naive. Those four weeks flicker by without him realising how fast, and the 26th of November, like any lurking beast, attacks him, swift and sudden. In fact, the significance of the day is lost on him until Eleanor arrives that morning.

“It’s been exactly three months, Louis,” she says.

And Louis darts to his feet, his robe billowing out around him as he runs back to his room. He throws the doors open, hoping to see Harry where he'd left him, nursing a hangover. His heart nosedives when he sees the bed empty.

A servant steps into the hall, bowing frantically when Louis startles her.

“Where’s my husband?” he asks.

“I don’t know, m’lord.”

“He’s not in his room?”

“No, m’lord.”

Louis breaks into another sprint, bare feet slapping on the marble floors. He checks the baths. He checks the kitchen. He checks the mead hall. He checks the garden.

Louis walks every inch of the Underworld, but it’s been three months and that makes everything painfully clear. Harry doesn’t love him. Or maybe he does, Louis will never know, but it doesn’t matter. None of it was enough to make Harry stay.

Or even say goodbye.

+

Louis is entreated to the great hall by a servant with reports of an ‘urgent matter’, but nothing is ever urgent around here and Louis has less patience than ever before. It’s been a week without Harry and he supposes that if he doesn’t stop wallowing in his misery, he’ll go mad like his father, Cronus.

He crawls out of bed, whistling for Cerberus to follow him, and walks half-heartedly to the great hall. He enters with a sigh, pushing the double doors open, and comes to an immediate halt.

Harry sits in Louis’ chair with his long legs propped up on the edge of the table, the train of his robe pooled on the floor by the chair’s feet. Perched in his hand is a single dark red apple.

Louis draws a small breath, straightening his spine. He tries to school his expression into something calm, collected. “What are you doing here?”

“My apples are ripe,” Harry says easily, swinging his legs off the table, bare feet landing soundlessly on the floor.

“I could have had them picked for you,” Louis says. “You came all the way back here for fruit?”

Doesn’t make sense.

The hope is like a draft, sneaking in through the cracks of the walls Louis mounted over the past week. He takes a step forward.

“I had other reasons,” Harry says.

Louis approaches him slowly. “Like?” he asks, stopping a safe foot away.

Harry stands, holding the fruit aloft between them, his eyes on Louis’ mouth. “Have a bite.”

Louis looks at him, jaw locked. “You didn't travel all this way for me to taste an apple.”

Harry smiles. Of course, he didn’t.

Louis has to kiss him. He closes the foot of space, hesitates only a second, and leans in. Harry leans back, shaking his head. He gestures with the apple.

“Go on,” he says.

Louis has half the sense to bat the fruit out of Harry’s hand, but doesn't. He can't resist playing along with Harry, ever. He leans in again, this time towards the fruit, and sinks his teeth into it. Frothy juice runs down his chin, down Harry’s wrist, down his arm.

“Worth the wait, isn’t it?” Harry whispers.

Yes. But Louis doesn’t say so. He wraps his hand around Harry’s wrist and presses his mouth to Harry’s pulse where it beats rapidly. He drags his tongue down the vein beneath his skin, sucks the juice from his fingers, causing Harry’s eyelids to sink low, his mouth to part.

The apple falls.

And they kiss, all tongue and teeth and slick persistent heat. They’re both relentless. Both too rough about it. Licking and biting in a way no one else could handle other than them. No one else could kiss Louis like this.

“I want you to say it,” Louis breathes. “Tell me you want me.”

“I want you,” Harry says, without pause. He tears Louis’ shirt open, all six buttons popping free and pinging on the hardwood floor, pushes the shirt off, his hands searing on their venture across Louis’ chest and back.

Louis sweeps his palm across the table and there's a mighty clatter of plates and silverware. He doesn't take his eyes off Harry’s mouth. He spreads him out across the dining table and Harry lies there, his hair spilled around his head.

With a tug of the sash, Louis pulls Harry’s robe open. He’s naked and flushed underneath, his skin glowing with sweat. Louis sets his hand atop Harry’s chest, pausing there to feel his heart thumping furiously. He cups Harry's cheek and brushes his thumb across his mouth and nearly whimpers when Harry takes his thumb between his lips and sucks.

“Tell me you’re here to stay,” Louis begs.

“I’m here to stay,” Harry says immediately. He sits upright, his legs wrapped loosely around Louis’ waist. “But I want you to fuck me like I’m not.” He pops Louis’ trousers open and shoves them down to his thighs, leaving his cock to spring free. “Like it’s the last thing we might ever do.” He takes Louis’ length into his hand and presses his mouth to his ear. “Fuck me ‘til I’m yours.”

“You’re mine already,” Louis says.

“Prove it to me.”

Louis draws back and cups his face and kisses him. He kisses him everywhere he can reach, across the sharp hills of his collarbones and the decline between them, across the valley of his sternum, the rivers of skin that divide his abs. He charts him out with his mouth and tongue. The peak of his nipples that he takes between his teeth. The slope of his jaw.  He’s never seen Harry speechless or incoherent. He never shuts up for too long, but he’s voiceless now, pliant and limp in Louis’ arms.

At least until Louis says, “Condom?”

Harry laughs breathlessly. “I’m your husband. And we’re immortal.”

Prettier words have never been spoken.

Harry pushes Louis’ hand from his hip to the space between his legs, then presses Louis’ fingers against his hole, which is damp and sticky. “I’m good to go,” he says, in case Louis’ missed it.

Louis wants to tease him about how he’d clearly been gagging for it the last three months, but that’d be a stone thrown in a glass house.

He slips two fingers into him, snatching a gasp from Harry’s mouth that he smothers with another kiss. He can only stand the heat of him around his fingers for so long, before he needs it around his cock. He drags Harry to the edge of the table by the hips and takes hold of himself, nudging against him, toying with him because fair is fair.

Harry digs his heels into Louis’ thighs. “Damn it, Louis—”

Louis grins and pushes into him just enough to shut him up. He presses his hands into the edge of the table and won’t budge when Harry tries to pull him closer.

“I hate you,” Harry exhales, thumping the back of his head against the table.

“You love me.”

“ _You_ love _me_ ,” Harry counters — Louis snaps his hips forward, their bodies slamming together — “ _Fuck_ , yes.”

“You love me,” Louis says again, and Harry doesn’t speak this time. He can’t speak once Louis starts to fuck him in earnest. He tries, muttering a word here and there, hissing Louis’ name when a thrust is especially good, when he meets him where it counts. They’re mostly speechless but so loud, groaning and swearing with enough ardor that everyone within the kingdom and without must hear them. And Louis loves that. Never knew he was an exhibitionist until the thought of being seen or heard has his head spinning.

Their immortality affords them countless opportunities to do this over and over, but it’s this moment that Louis wishes could last forever. But he’s so close so soon. And he’s about to say as much when Harry arches away from the table, squeezes Louis’ hips between his thighs, and comes. It seems like he's not even breathing, his mouth open in a silent scream. He comes without touch or further provocation. He comes all over his abs and his flushed chest. He claws at Louis’ forearms, sure enough to draw blood, but Louis doesn't feel it.

He draws away and fucks into him again, and Harry groans, his gaze returning to Louis. His nails dig deeper and Louis feels the pain this time, feels it compounded with the desperation.

“Come on, baby,” Harry breathes.

Louis spreads his hand out over Harry’s chest, smearing come across his skin. His hand moves higher, curling loosely around Harry’s long, sweat-damp neck and he leaves it there. Harry tilts his head back, exposes more of his throat to him.

“Come on,” Harry murmurs, resting his hand over Louis’.

“You're mine,” Louis tells him.

“Always,” Harry says.

“You love me.”

“Always.”

Louis buries himself inside again and comes. His whole body tenses up and he curls forward, dropping his forehead against Harry’s sternum, each breath hot and greedy.

Harry holds him, his fingers cool on the back of Louis’ neck and the line of his spine.

“Worth the wait?” he asks quietly.

“Shut up, Harry,” Louis pants and then they both laugh, bodies still connected and shaking with the force of their giggling. He lifts his head and pulls out eventually with several kisses pressed to Harry’s mouth. Harry pulls his robe closed and sits upright, leaning in for another.

“How about another go?” Louis says. “I’ll let you know how I feel afterwards.”

Harry smiles, sliding off the table. “Come on,” he says, wiggling his fingers for Louis to latch onto them. “We’ve got a whole kingdom to cover.”

Of course, it's worth the wait. In the baths minutes later. And in their bedroom. And the spare bedrooms too. And in the garden. His personal favorite is the blow job he gets while sat on his throne. They have each other over and over again, and it's worth it every time.

“I love you too,” Louis says much later in their bedroom lit only by a solitary candle. Harry might be asleep, but Louis has to say it now because he’s never been more sure.

There’s a rustle of sheets, Harry hooking his leg over Louis’, pressing his face further into the bend of Louis’ neck.

“I know,” he says.

+

The bartender has that tragic, starved artist look about him which unfortunately makes him Louis’ type. And maybe he knows it because he serves Louis his second drink with a smirk and a sultry: “On the house.”

Poor lad. Months ago, that might have worked.

Louis smiles politely and has a sip.

A strike of lightening beyond the window makes him think they didn't pick the best night for this. He's just about to swivel on his barstool when a shadow looms at his side. The scent of roses and lavender brings a syrupy smile to his face. Louis sets his glass down.

“Is this seat taken?”

Louis shakes his head. “All yours.”

“I'm Harry.”

Louis’ lips twitch and he meets Harry’s gaze. “Louis. Nice to meet you.”

Harry licks his lips to stop a full-blown grin from breaking out. He's terrible at this. He orders a drink and runs a hand through his dark hair sweeping it away from his forehead. Louis sighs. He didn't even remove his wedding band.

“I've seen you here a few times before,” Harry says. “Always alone, why’s that?”

“Maybe I've been waiting for you.”

Harry gives him a look. “You'll have to try harder than that.”

“Aren't you the one who approached me? If anyone’s trying at something, it's you.”

“Touché,” Harry says with a shit-eating grin. “I guess I'm just curious how anyone could leave such a beautiful man alone for so long.”

Louis snorts.

“Too much?” Harry asks.

“Just a little.”

“Right, sorry,” Harry says. “You look really good. It's distracting.”

“That's the whole point, isn't it?”

Harry huffs impatiently. “Do you want to just go home and get in bed?”

Louis laughs and massages the bridge of his nose. “This was your idea.”

“I know, I know,” Harry grumbles. He slaps his hands down on the bar top. “Okay, let's try this again.” He turns away, has a big gulp of his drink, and taps his fingers against the glass as he thinks. He turns to Louis after a minute’s passed, their knees brushing. Louis looks at him and finds his expression is somewhat calmer, his smile softer and seductive like it'd been the first time they met.

“Is there anyone waiting for you at home?” Harry asks.

They stare at each other a moment. Louis is flooded with memories of their first encounter and everything since and suddenly he’s reaching out, cupping the back of Harry’s neck. _He’s right here_ , he wants to say. But he kisses him slowly, reverently instead. Kisses him the way he does every morning and every night.

And when he’s finished, he pays for their drinks and takes Harry home.

+

_fin._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the comments and kudos!! They're so appreciated.
> 
> Have the happiest Halloween!! Much love xxxxx

**Author's Note:**

> the loveliest [masterpost](http://crosstheuniverse.tumblr.com/post/166141321875/you-flower-you-feast-by-alienproof-also-known-as) by [crosstheuniverse](http://crosstheuniverse.tumblr.com/)
> 
> [amaaaaaaaaaaazing art](http://crurulbys.tumblr.com/post/166245669658/his-skin-glows-more-radiantly-in-the-great-hall) by [crurulbys](http://crurulbys.tumblr.com/)


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